Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[cibl commish]

Excellent stuff as always..

[Jazzmosis]

Here it comes... sorry for the delay today but I was out of town last night and this morning... I like this chapter, but it's more of a lead in to the end of the year and what lies beyond... enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 11: To the Final Inning


I spent most of the day thinking about the future. I talked with Lacey about what may happen to my job. Of course, I did it over the phone to avoid a lengthy discussion face to face. She and I tried to iron out our potential for being together if I didn’t stay in a Marlin’s uniform. No matter the scenario, the conclusion didn’t seem to favour either of us. She was just about to head off to college for her second year in California, which meant that for the last month and most of the winter we would be apart.

We agreed to try and make it work out, and the next day she left Miami to go study in Oakland. I showed up to the game that night, noticeably depressed. Dewberry, acting as a self-proclaimed relationship genius, picked up on it immediately.

“What’s wrong, Skipper J?” He asked, putting on his glove.

I glanced at him with a sad expression. “Lacey.”

His smile disappeared. “You two all right?”

“She’s gone to Oakland for college.”

“So?” Dewberry smiled, somewhat relieved. “More time to get down with the lookers around here.”

I looked at him. “That’s the worst advice ever.”

“I know.” He chuckled and turned away. I couldn’t help but smirk to his antics. I don’t know if he ever meant for that conversation to have such significance or if he was just kidding around, but he taught me a lesson that night. There was other girls out there - maybe Lacey wasn’t the one for me.

We won that night. I was doing my best to focus on working.


The next night, Isoruko came back and pitched like he hadn’t all year, throwing 137 pitches and striking out a career high 13 batters in a 3-2 win against the Cubs. The media questioned why I was leaving a young guy in for so long, but the truth was Clifford had begged me to keep him in.


A few nights later, I was ejected for the 19th time. What a record I had going. At the time, I thought it would never be broken. How wrong I was.

When September 7th rolled along, I bumped Vargas to pitch rookie Peter Spier, who’d been drafted in June. He’d made a quick rise, but scouts had said that he was close to ready on draft day.

It was a debut to forget, as he gave 9 runs in 5 innings and lost the game. I still marched him out every five days, hoping he would rebound. And did he ever, finishing the year with a 4.55 ERA.

We got hot, winning eight of our last ten. On September 16th, Christopher Look was cleared to pitch regularly again. We won that night, but received word shortly after that Atlanta had won, officially eliminating us from playoff contention. The guys were all in the change room when I walked in with the news.

“Good game tonight, guys.”

The team mumbled in response, barely paying attention to me.

“However, we knew this would come sooner or later. Atlanta has won, so. . . on October 5th, the Marlins season is going to end.”

The team went silent, waiting for me to say something else. I didn’t really know what to say, so I improvised.

“We’ve had a season of ups and downs. There’s a lot of things I’m glad I saw you guys do. A lot of things I wouldn’t trade anything to see. You’ve got a lot of heart, and a lot of talent. The game’s for pride now. Let’s not fade away over these last few weeks.”

I looked at the faces, who were returning my glance. For the first time all year, I knew this was my team and they knew I was their manager.

Call it just being a rookie and not fully understanding the game at that time, but it took me that long to realize what makes a good manager is leadership - and my overall indecisiveness throughout the year was what had knocked that Marlins club from the post-season. I held back a tear as I turned and walked out of the change room, preparing for the onslaught of reporters and cameras that would undoubtedly spill in.

Two days later, Fistell continued to sure up his bullpen by signing Alfred Walker to a three year extension for a moderate price tag of 2.3 million.

On September 19th, David Yoshii continued his hot hitting with his 100th RBI, which came on a fly ball to the track that scored Howard Hanover. He received an ovation from the bench and handshakes, as this was only the second time in his career that he’d achieved the 100 RBI plateau, and the first time since 1996, when he played as an Indian.

A couple days later, the Chicago White Sox clinched their division, the first team in the Major Leagues to do so.

We came into a crucial series with Cincinnati, who was tied with Milwaukee in a dead heat for playoff contention. It was likely that the loser would get the wildcard, but Pittsburgh was only lurking 3 games behind, so it wasn’t a guarantee. We blew the lead in both games of the two game set, but Dewberry swung a hot bat, putting his hit streak to a career high 13 straight games. The Marlins then went to Milwaukee to play a two game set, and for the third night in a row, blew the lead in the 8th inning and lost. Dewberry went 2-4.

Milwaukee swept us the next night, but Yoshii took a ball in the eye while diving back to first base and was informed he’d miss a week. A huge blow for him, since that would put him out for every game but the last.

Dewberry extended his streak to 15, only three shy of Hanover’s team record set a month ago. However, that was where it stopped, as Dewberry went 0-5 on the 26th. Hanover asserted his hitting dominance on the year by breaking the Marlins’ hit record with his 185th hit.

Minnesota clinched the wildcard the next day, three days after Atlanta clinched the division over second-placed Mets. We slipped to fourth, and that was where we finished the year.

September ended, leading us into October for the final four games of the season. We’d played near .500 in September, going 12-14. And with a thrilling extra inning win the night before, we’d guaranteed ourselves that we couldn’t lose 90 games, in addition to knocking Pittsburgh out of the playoff hunt.

October started with a thump, as Jonas Sarabia announced that he was going to test the free agent market instead of resigning with Florida. It would not have been so bad if he had kept it private, but he did declared so in a press conference, which got the rumour mill stirring early across the league. It was already known that Yoshii was leaving and George Aiken, the stolen base leader on the club with 42, was going to test the market.

We won two of the three games, before going into Los Angeles for the final game of the year. Milwaukee clinched the NL Central and Baltimore took the AL East the night before, but both the NL and AL West was going to be decided in the last game of the season. In the AL, Texas and Oakland trailed Anaheim by a game. To crown it off, Anaheim and Texas were facing off.

In the clubhouse before the game, the team was casual, although quiet in the face of a long winter ahead. I walked in, with Turman and Johnson beside me, and made the last speech of the 2004 Florida Marlins year.

“Guys, it’s been a good year. And it all ends tonight.” I started, Johnson nodding in agreement.

“An interesting year.” Guerra piped, in a near-mocking tone.

I nodded. “I’m not going to pretend that we couldn’t have done better, but I blame much of our shortcomings on myself and some of the choices I made. They weren’t all good, but we’ve had some thrilling comebacks and some insane pitching performances that I know I’ll never forget. And tonight, let’s go out there one last time and show the Dodgers what we’re made of - what we do for a living, and let’s end this year on a high with another W.”

I went numb after that speech, holding back my emotions. I had wanted to play in the post-season, and from the first day with Erwin Canon, I feared this would be the end of my Florida tenure. I had learned a lot, but knew there was still much more to learn. Hopefully Canon would realize this and give me another shot. Maybe he would have a change of heart.


We won the final game of the year in a grand fashion: A 2-0 shutout. Peter Spier got the win, his third, and Look notched his 30th save, finishing the year with a 2.37 ERA to boot. Dewberry finished with a .272 average, the most games played with 158, 27 home runs, and 89 RBIs.

And David Yoshii, Jonas Sarabia, George Aiken, and September callup 35 year old catcher Kun’Ichiro Jinzaburo all played their last games as a Marlin.


I called Lacey in Oakland and talked things over with her, but didn’t really come to any conclusion. She was enjoying herself in college and told me she was seriously doubting if this would last between us.

What a way to finish the year.


Around the league, Colorado won over San Diego for the NL West, and Anaheim fending off both teams to take the AL West.

The playoffs started later that week, and Dewberry, Look, and myself held a huge bash at my apartment, as we watched both Anaheim and Minnesota get swept out in the first round by Chicago and Baltimore respectively. Interestingly enough, Chicago was the only team in baseball to win 100 games, finishing the regular season with a 104-58 record.

I spent most of the playoffs in a drunken state, licking my wounds and forgetting some harsh losses. Baltimore upset Chicago to head to the World Series, while Milwaukee first bumped Colorado in 4, and then Atlanta in a dramatic 7 game series.

In the World Series, underdog Baltimore took Milwaukee in 5 games, with Anibal Pina getting the save in the final game. Anibal Pina. The guy was not good enough for the Marlins, but ended up saving the last game of the season. I watched from my apartment as the Orioles mobbed one another, and downed another shot.

The next morning, I got a call from Erwin Canon.

“What do you want?” I asked, partially hung over.

“Come into my office for 3PM. We have to chat about your future.” He said before hanging up.

“What?” I asked to a dial tone.


I waited impatiently for 3PM, at which I was knocking on Canon’s door to his office in Miami Park.

“Come in.” I heard his voice from the other end.

“You wanted me?” I asked as I entered, trying to contain the excitement in my voice.

He looked me straight in the eye. “Have a seat.”

I sat obediently.

“I suppose I should tell you want you’ve been waiting to hear.”

[GoCubsAndJays]

Goddamnit... I don't wanna have to wait another week! ... Great writing though, really enjoyed this thread so far.

[UngratefulDead]

Cliffhanger!

Great thread.

[Jazzmosis]

As a special treat, I've decided to provide links to the final standings and Marlins final roster stats, just so you know how I did...

Final standings:

2004 Final League standings

Florida Marlins final stats:

Florida Marlins Stats

Judging on how perplexing the picture linkages seem to be on OOTP, hopefully this works fine...

[The Funk]

That's a damn mountain-hanger, great thread! Really enjoying it. Although sadly I think you might be out of a job pretty soon and unless you take over the Giants who I see had a pretty poor season, I think the writing could be on the wall for you and Lacey too. Still, if you do get your marching orders make sure you steal that bastard's placard!

Also, one tiny bit of nitpicking (you said at the beginning you'd welcome people pointing out inconsistencies), Look starts out at 35 at the beginning of the season and when he gets injured he claims he's 34. Of course he could be in denial about his age..

Anyway, I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment.

Still waiting...

and waiting... (I'll stop now)

[Jazzmosis]

Thanks for the note there, I didn't catch the age mistake.. fixed.

Anyways, I'm currently doing a quick edit of the next chapter, so it should be out within the next 20 minutes... sit tight!

[Jazzmosis]

Here we go, Chapter 12. Of all the chapters I've written so far, I think this one is my favourite.

Chapter 12: A Change of Heart


I waited impatiently for Canon as he took a long sip of his coffee. His slicked-back brown hair swayed ever so slightly as he tilted his head back. He pushed his reading glasses back towards his eyes, and shuffled some papers on the desk.

“Remember how I told you at the beginning of the year that I wanted this team to go to the playoffs?” He looked me straight in the eye as he spoke.

“Yes.” I responded, shuffling my feet.

“And what would happen if you didn’t do it?”

“Yes.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, I’m at ends about this whole situation. You failed as a manager for the Marlins, but you’re a bargain.”

I didn’t respond - I didn’t know where he was going with this.

“And you did win 77 games as a rookie with absolutely no professional experience in baseball.”

“Thank you. . .” I replied, assuming he was giving me a compliment.

“Perhaps I was a bit hard on you during the year, Mark. I just wanted to test to see if you could handle the pressure of the big leagues or not.”

“Okay?” I glanced down at his desk, and the placard with the words ‘Erwin Canon’ engraved on it.

“What do you think this team needs to succeed for next year?”

I held back the excitement in my stomach. Why else would he be rational and asking me about the Marlin’s future? “To be honest, it needs more offense.”

“So I thought. . . okay, that’s all I wanted to know.” He sifted through his papers and handed one to me. “This is for you.”

I calmly took it, trying not to look eager. Once firmly in my grip, I looked at the words that were written.

Dear Mr. Jazzington,

Thank you for your service as manager for the 2004 season with the Florida Marlins. You were well liked by the players and an enjoyment to watch according to the fans. Unfortunately we regret to inform you that we will not be offering a contract extension for the 2005 season. Best luck in your future endeavours, whether they be baseball related or not.

Sincerely,
The Florida Marlins Front Office
Erwin Canon, Raymond Fistell


I stared in disbelief at the letter, my excitement turning into a queasy feeling. Slowly, I turned my gaze to Canon, who looked at me, emotionless. “I am sorry that you have failed, Mr. Jazzington.” His hand lay outstretched, awaiting for me to return the handshake offering.

I turned and walked out of his office, never taking his offer.

“Good luck in the future.” Was the last thing I heard him say before I closed his office door.

His placard was never taken. I couldn’t even do that right.


I walked to my apartment, dead to the world. The world moved on without me - I was lost. The first thing I did at home was call my dad. He asked me what I was going to do and if I would come home, but I didn’t have any answers.

Then Dewberry, then Look, then Lacey. One by one I called and told them my sad story, each offering somewhat sympathetic words and hopes for the future.

“You’ll find somewhere else, Jazz. Maybe a minor league job.” That was Dewberry.

“****. Now what? You going to go back to Canada?” That was Lacey.

“Sorry. You. . . sorry. I’m going to miss you, man. Thanks for giving me the closer’s job to me.” That was Look.


I would have gone back to my parents’ home for the winter, but my lease on the apartment didn’t run out until the beginning of 2005, so I stayed in Miami. However, I did go back to Canada for Christmas - the first time I’d been there since leaving. My sister’s wedding date was set for February.

I returned back to my apartment on December 28th, and began packing what little I owned. I needed a car, so I had bought a used Mazda Protege the week before. Luckily, the landlord had provided most of the furniture, so selling or packing it wasn’t necessary. I spent some of the next day packing the last of my possessions and spent the rest with Lacey, who was home from Oakland on Christmas break. Her and I did our best to push aside our problems, and for the most part, we just had fun.

But I knew that in two days, I wouldn’t have a place to live. I hadn’t made any plans to get a new home, either.

On the 30th, just before I unplugged my phone, I had a brainwave and called Dewberry.

“Jerry. I need your agent’s number.” I blurted, urgency in my voice.

“Looking for a representative?” He asked, somewhat confused.

“Sure. . . I just need his number.”

Dewberry gave it to me, although warning me that his agent probably wasn’t looking to represent anyone new at the time. Which was fine.

I called the agent the next day, at his home number that Jerrold have given me.

“Hello?” He responded.

“Is this Rich Cibberb?” I asked, ignoring the greeting.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Mark Jazzington, ex-Florida Marlins manager.”

“Hello, son. I’m just going to say that I’m not looking to represent anyone new currently.”

“That’s fine - I’m not looking for an agent. I need a few numbers.”

There was a brief silence. “Numbers? Of what?”

I remembered reading that Arizona, Kansas City, Philadelphia, and St. Louis had open manager spots for 2005. My chances were slim, but I had experience now - I had to do something to stay in the majors. “Club owners’ numbers. I’m sure you have them.”

I explained my intentions to Mr. Cibberb in full, and after some reluctance, he gave me the clubs’ numbers.

“Just don’t say I gave them to you. I don’t represent you, so I shouldn’t be doing anything right now.” He said, before we exchanged goodbyes.

I immediately called the four clubs and expressed my interest to manage for them. Kansas City told me outright they weren’t interested, but the other three said they’d get back to me after the holidays. I gave them my cell phone and my dad’s number, telling them I was “changing addresses” and that my phone wouldn’t be up for a while. It was a lie, but they bought it.

I spent new year’s eve celebrating with Lacey, after loading my car with everything I owned and handing the keys to the apartment back to the landlord. Over the course of the year, I’d spent about 50,000 dollars in living expenses, including the purchase of my car. So I had 50 thousand left, and no place to live.

I spent the first two weeks living in my car, driving around Florida, Georgia, and Alabama aimlessly, eating fast food for all meals, showering at any community outreach place I could find, or driving to the ocean and showering at the beach change rooms. I was living horribly and uncomfortably, and I would use my car battery to charge my cell phone over the night. I could have driven back to live with my parents, but I had too much pride to admit my failures in Florida. I was clinging to the hope that one of the three teams would call me back.

My lucky break finally came as I was eating at a fast food restaurant in Atlanta on January 18th, 2005.

“Mr. Jazzington?” The voice crackled through my phone.

“Yes?” I asked, quickly finding somewhere quiet to talk.

“I’m Daniel Eastwood, GM of the Arizona Diamondbacks. We’d like to arrange an interview with you regarding our vacant managerial position.”

“Really? When do you want me? I’m in Atlanta right now.” I could feel my excitement building again. There was hope.

“How about the 23rd of January, at the stadium offices in Phoenix at 3PM?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic! Look forward to seeing you then.”

He gave me the room number before hanging up. Without any hesitation, I called my dad and told him my chance. It was the first time I’d talked to anyone I knew since New Years. Nobody, and I mean nobody, knew where I was. I hadn’t even called Lacey.

“Good god son, we thought you had died or gone missing. Where have you been?” That was my dad’s first thing he said to me.

“Living in my car for three weeks.” I responded. “But that could all change soon. D’Backs want to have an interview with me for the managerial job.”

“Congratulations. But why didn’t you call anyone to let us know what you’ve been doing? Your mother’s been worrying herself to death.”

“I don’t have an address, and I haven’t told the cell phone company that I’ve moved out. So I don’t want to run up the bill unless I have a chance. So I didn’t use the phone.”

“That’s a stupid idea, son.” My dad responded harshly.

“I don’t care. Look I’ll call you back, I’ve got to drive to Phoenix and buy a suit, shower up, and earn me a second chance!”

“Good luck, son.”


I hung up and drove out of Atlanta. I had a four day drive ahead of me, on a route I didn’t know, to a stadium in a city I didn’t know.

It didn’t matter. I cranked one of my CDs over the car speakers and headed for Phoenix, Arizona, with a big smile on my face and a hopeful heart.

[The Funk]

Nice chapter, good job!

[cibl commish]

Awesome!

Here's hoping for the Arizona job!

[Tauro]

Great stuff... hope Jazz lands another job.

[Jazzmosis]

Coming up, Chapter 13. Contrary to the "bad luck" number of this chapter... good things happen. Sort of. Anyways, I had to cram alot into this chapter so it runs a little long (but not in two parts.)

Anyways, it'll be up in a minute...

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 13: A Lucky Break


I arrived in Arizona in a record time - and promptly found the stadium. I still had a day before the interview, so I found a hotel nearby and cleaned myself up. The next morning I bought a cheap suit, and headed to the stadium to try and win myself a job. After a few questions and a little bit of wandering, I found Eastwood’s office.

He was waiting for me, even though I was early. “Hello there, Mr. Jazzington.” He offered me a seat.

“Hello, sir.”

He looked me over instantly, gauging my attire and how I composed myself. I sat as straight as I could and looked back at him. Daniel Eastwood looked almost like he was from the 70's, with a comb-over haircut, thick-rimmed glasses, and a plaid-like vest. He was taller than me, and appeared to weigh about the same.

“I’ve interviewed a few people over the last few weeks, but you’re the first who actually has major league managing experience.” He sat in his chair rigidly.

“Well, let me thank you for this chance.” I blurted. “I was hoping someone would at least think I could manage.”

He chuckled quietly to himself, but not in a mocking way. “You called us about the job - we wouldn’t have inquired otherwise. In fact, most of the brain-trust around here just assumed you’d given up and got on with life.”

“I don’t like to just give up on the game I love.” I said. Deep inside I wondered if I was lying to myself, since I’d nearly given up near New Year’s and let myself go.

“That’s good. I like to hear that.” Eastwood responded with a smile. He then leaned over his desk, resting his weight on his elbows. “I’ll be honest with you.”

Honest with me? I thought, remembering Canon saying those words before he demanded post-season berth.

“A lot of critics think you don’t have what it takes. Personally, I don’t know either. Let me ask you: How do you think you managed last year?”

That was unexpected - when I was hired by Fistell, it seemed like he’d made up his mind when I started calling pitches in that game two years ago. I decided the only way to respond was to be truthful, and hope it worked to my advantage. “Honestly, I think I could have done better. I made some mistakes with the bullpen in Florida, but I feel if I’m given the chance, those mistakes won’t be repeated. I also think the expectations the owner put on me were unrealistic given the talent of the players I started with.”

The interview went on for a little while longer before Eastwood said he’d give me a call in a few days with his decision.

I spent the next two days in the hotel and wandering around Phoenix. From what I’d read in the papers, there was about 15 candidates for this job. Arizona had finished third in the NL West at with a 78-84 record. The starting pitching was a little weak, as was the offense, but rumours were swirling. They’d already signed a solid setup man (Dante Camera), and were working with the Free Agent pool’s biggest star, 2B Magglio Casablanca on a deal that was rumoured to be over 10 million a year. And for once, there was backup players that could hit and field.

I got the great news on January 26th, when Eastwood called and told me he’d chosen me for the job. I was ecstatic, and hurried over to Phoenix Metro Park to sign the contract. When I arrived, the news got even better.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jazzington.” Eastwood said with a handshake.

“Great to be here again!” I exclaimed excitedly.

“I was touched by your honesty in the interview, and after talking with the owner, who will be coming around in a minute, we both agreed that we should give you the shot.”

“Thank you so very much.” I responded, trying to calm myself down. “Where are the papers I need to sign?”

“Well I have an enticing offer for you, son.” Eastwood pulled out two sets of papers. “How would you like to sign a two year deal?”

My jaw dropped to the floor. “You mean it?” I was already ecstatic about getting another chance - but now this club wanted to invest in me.

“Absolutely. The papers on the left of you is for a two year deal worth 335 thousand dollars for each year. On the right, it’s for just one year.”

“I’d love to sign for two years.”

“Perfect!” He smiled, and pushed the papers towards me. “It will be nice to have some stability as a manager for this club to grow with.”

He couldn’t have said it better. With the one year Marlins experiment officially in the past, I had longed for the chance to prove myself worthy to manage again. Even though I didn’t reach expectations with Canon, the two year deal gave me a chance to establish myself.

I finished signing the contract and looked up at Eastwood. “Now, what is it you expect of me?” I wanted to get that out in the air immediately, so there were no surprises.

“Slow down, son!” Eastwood laughed. “The ink isn’t even dry and you’re eager to go!”

I shrugged. “Good to get things out in the open right away.”

Eastwood smiled widely. “I like you, kid.”


I met up with the owner, Richard Concardian. He was tall and thin, and wearing an expensive business suit. In one hand, an unlit cigar, and in the other, a lighter. He had short, graying hair and wore dark sunglasses. Seemed like a nice enough guy, and he was much more understanding then Canon could ever dream of being.


I found out in the passing weeks that Eastwood and Concardian were very different people. Eastwood wasn’t afraid to spend money to bring in the stars, while Concardian was more concerned with keeping budget low, but fielding a decent enough team to bring in revenue. I sided a little more with Eastwood, because I wanted to win. Florida was only one step of a large staircase, and I was determined to make it to the top. As much as I wanted to avoid comparing this job to the Florida job, it was inevitable.


Overall, the Diamondbacks were a decent team - they had the Rookie of the Year Dominic Rodriguez roaming shortstop, and perennial All-Star Michael Gongora in rightfield. 25 year old Rodriguez wasn't tall - almost the same height as me. He had dark skin and spoke with a heavy latino accent, much like most of the players on the club. But unlike me, he was fairly muscular and could hit for some power. And man, could he hit. He was almost impossible to get out. However, his glove needed some work. He had good range, but it seemed like he ahead of himself on plays. Gongora, on the other hand, was very tall, and very muscular. At 32 years, he consistently hit 30 homeruns and played good defence in rightfield. His head was shaved, his skin a light brown, and he spoke with a very soft voice, shrouded by his accent. He liked to laugh, and frequently did so. He was almost a Cuban Dewberry. Almost.

Just before spring training began, Eastwood finalized the biggest deal of the off-season with Magglio Casablanca. 3 years, 39 million. 13 million a year! He was a young second baseman who could hit the long ball and steal a lot of bases. Eastwood then traded for Aaron Delph, a power hitting hot corner defender. He lost the centrefielder in the deal, who had just broken the franchise rookie home run record a year earlier, but quickly turned around and made another trade for 35 year old centrefielder “The Red Baron” William Schudlt. He then traded for a young pitcher to fill the starter gap and signed veteran Deivi Solomon, who had missed all of last year because of Tommy John surgery as a wildcard. All of this happened within 3 days of each other.


On February 15th, I finally broke down and called Lacey. I had been busy renting another apartment in Arizona for the year - I hoped this one would be a little more permanent. I had called my parents, sister, Dewberry, and Look already.
However, I had left Lacey to last. We hadn’t talked for 6 weeks.

“Hello?” She responded.

“Hey Laces. . .” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Oh. Mark. Good to hear from you after 6 weeks. Thanks for thinking about me for that time.” She hissed, obviously very angry. I couldn’t blame her.

“Yeah, I know I haven’t called. I spent all January in my car, and most of February settling in.”

“Settling in where?”

“Arizona. I got the D-backs job.” I smiled as I spoke.

“Good for you. You know what you didn’t get though?”

“What?” I could sense hostility.

“A lasting relationship with me.” She was nearly yelling at this point. “You missed my goddamn birthday! Nobody knew where you were! Didn’t you even THINK of calling me?”

“Ohhhh... right, your 20th. How’d that go?” I knew this conversation wasn’t going to end well regardless, so I didn’t put much thought into it. Lacey had grown apart from me during the end of last year, and I had neglected humanity for most of January.

Lacey was fuming. “How’d it go? That’s all you have to ask? Mark, if you don’t care enough to call me or see me on my birthday, we’re through.”

“Okay.” I responded bluntly. “It’s not like we didn’t see this coming anyways.”

Lacey was silent for a moment. “Yeah. . . I guess so.” I could hear sobs on the other end. “So this is it?”

“I guess so.”

“Goodbye, Mark. Hope you find happiness in your sport.” She sobbed heavily, but still sounded angry.

“Sorry about all this - I hope you find a guy that will truly appreciate you. You’re a great girl.”

“Shut up.” She snapped. “And hey, what happened to your stutter?”

I didn’t even notice that it was gone. “Hey, you’re right. I guess it just went away.”

We said goodbye, and officially ended our relationship. A part of me was sad, but I just took Dewberry’s advice to heart. There was other girls out there, and I was young.


Speaking of Dewberry, I found out on February 18th that he had been traded to San Francisco. Strange - I was sad about leaving the friends behind, and they’d followed me west.

As happy as I was to hear that he was out west, I got even better news on February 19th. Eastwood had traded First baseman Richard Bales, a 29 year old long ball hitter with no running speed whatsoever, to Florida - for Christopher Look. I was thrilled to have Look back under my helm, and when he arrived to Spring training, he and I had a hug and a handshake for each other. "Ready to be the closer again?" I chuckled.

"You know you're giving me that job." He smiled back.

Eastwood had made a lot of moves coming to March, including picking up relief from the FA pool, offense from trades, and fans with Magglio Casablanca.

As opening day whirled in for the second year, I sat in the clubhouse with the new faces, sporting my Arizona uniform, which had number 45 on the back.

This year was going to be different.

[hayesb26]

3 years 36 million


thats 12 million per year, not 13.

might want to edit that.



great work though, as im coming to expect from you

[UngratefulDead]

Great stuff as always.

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

“Ohhhh... right, your 20th. How’d that go?”

Absolutely priceless.

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

and pre-annual All-Star Michael Gongora in rightfield..

I think you mean 'perennial' here, just a heads-up.

[Jazzmosis]

Got them both - thanks.

Glad you like it so far.. hopefully it's not getting boring.

[Jazzmosis]

Here's the next chapter of Mark Jazzington... sorry that it's not on the usual Saturday, but I'll be out of town starting tomorrow until the end of the weekend so I figured I'd drop it in now so you can enjoy it...

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 14: A Fresh Start


I started the season in San Diego, against the Padres. I had come acquainted with most of the players, but had only spent any off-field time with Look. Much like last year, I got the distinct impression the players did not take me seriously. And I couldn’t blame them - I was only 19. I had gauged through the exhibition games the kind of fielding team I would be piloting - in spring training, that’s about the one thing you can take seriously. Guys may be trying out new swings or new pitches, but nobody is trying a new way to catch a ball - because there’s only way to do it. The bottom line was, this team looked about even with Florida, fielding-wise. Rodriguez at short was a little worse than Hanover, but Casablanca was far better defensively at second than the platoon of George Aiken and whoever Raymond Fistell had claimed off the waiver wire. And Aaron Delph - what a nightmare at third. In the first month alone, he made 9 errors. It almost made me long to have Kendrick Rizzo and Franky Devries back. However, Delph had an excuse, and a replenishing quality. The former first round selection was originally a first baseman.

His other quality was that he could hit the ball a mile and a half. It was not a big surprise, since he was built like a tank. All the scouts originally said he’d be better suited as a DH in the American League, but he worked hard to slim down and learn first. Then, one month before his first big league call-up in 2000, he was told to learn third. Barely fielding poor enough to even be considered a third baseman, an injury threw him to the fracas of the major leagues and he was learning on the go.

He was generally a nice guy, but had a serious drinking problem. He liked to party and womanize, and had been in a lawsuit involving “forced sexual actions” previously.

At first base, Antonio Moreno had gone to the free agent period and then resigned with Arizona after the Bales-Look trade guaranteed him more playing time. He was a 31 year old African-American player that you wouldn’t hear much about in sports shows. Moreno kept to himself, mostly - he did not have a wife, kids, or a girlfriend. He owned a modest house in Kansas, and did whatever he could to stay out of the limelight. I grew liking to him, since he was a good defender and an underrated bat that could produce.

In the outfield, there was solid players. In right, I had Michael Gongora. William Schuldt, a crisp, well-aged veteran, played centre. He had fabulous instincts, but absolutely no arm. Runners would round third at will on little loopers, and score easily. His nickname, “The Red Baron”, came to him many years ago, in the early 90's. The Dallas born All-Star would make outstanding leaping and diving catches, showing no regard for his body. “The Red Baron”, named after the German pilot from the first world war, garnished the name when he robbed not one, but four home run balls in one game. Two of them off the bat of hall-of-famer and manager, Franz McKeller. On the fourth catch, he actually broke a part of the wall. It was only an ad, but he took the top piece of it off by resting his weight on it when reaching for the ball.

Of course, The Red Baron did not make those reckless plays as often as he once did, as a few harsh injuries limited his playing time over the last few years. But every now and then, he would flash the leather in a diving snag or a leaping catch at the wall.

And in left field, was oft-forgotten Yong Renick. The half-Korean, half-American ballplayer was looking to bounce back after a tough year at the plate - his average was fine, but his home run production was low. Many thought he was losing the gift, but he was still relatively young (28) and had spent much of the offseason pumping iron.

The starters and bullpen were an odd bunch. Much of the bullpen was in their mid to late twenties, with the exception of Look, who had recently turned 35. And the starters were mainly in their early 30's, headed by Ken Giichi. Giichi was a homegrown Arizonian, but was drafted by Los Angeles in 1992 and had signed with Arizona in his first arbitration-free year. He was the kind of guy most players would call a ‘pickup’ player. He was professional and businesslike on and off the mound, and a real competitor. When we were down, he was the kind of player that would be telling guys to get their heads back in the game. He intimidated some guys and a few others did not like him all that much, but if you talked to him, he was rather pleasant. Just so long as he wasn’t losing.

The Arizona Diamondbacks first run of 2005 was scored by Ronnie Smith in the 5th, off the bat of Jerry Greenwald. Smith was a known lefty killer, so he got the start over Renick in left field. The first home run? A pinch hit home run, no less, by Thomas Westra, in the 10th inning, to break a 2-all tie. To close it out, Look got his first save, giving Arizona its first win.

Undoubtedly, this was a much better start than in Florida.

We got off to a hot start, winning our first 6 of 8. Look saved 4 nights in a row, bumping his tally to 6. He had a save for every win.

Boston was the last undefeated team in the league, winning their first seven games in a row.

On the 11th of April, Arizona played the first game against San Francisco and I was reunited with Dewberry once again. He and I went out for lunch, and caught up. It was good to talk to him again, and he promised to find some more girls for me after I told him about Lacey.

“Just go look for one down near the red light district, Jazzy.”

I smiled. “Is that why you spend so much time away from your wife?”

Dewberry cracked up in the middle of the restaurant, garnishing unwanted attention from others.


On the 14th, I saw Yong Renick make what he called the finest defensive play of his career. San Diego had runners on second and third with one out, when centrefielder Ron Woodcock lined a sinking fastball to shallow leftfield. Renick broke for the ball immediately, sliding and making a sprawling catch just before the ball hit the grass. A grass-angel in the field, he lifted his head to see Sebastian Maker rounding third. The out was called by the umpire for the catch, and Yong calmly stood up, tossing the ball to Casablanca and doubling off Maker at second. Threat over, Arizona holding a 4-2 lead. A ball that could have tied the game ended the inning.

The next day, I finally got my first ejection of the year. It seemed to be long overdue - I almost missed the feeling of walking off the field and into the clubhouse. There was something very warming about it - I guess it was because I had the record, and it was what I was known for the most. People expected it every time I went out to argue a call, but I was making a conscious effort to not be “The Angry Jazz.”

April 16th cruised in, with the team holding onto first place in the west. Most sports shows and columnists were predicting that it wouldn’t last, but I was optimistic that it would. This club was good. There was a lot of offense, a lot of getting along - many of the players were friends - and nobody got down on each other.

Rookie Benjamin Sizer was sent to AAA though, to make room for Yo****ora, who had just returned from the DL after shoulder surgery late last year. He provided an instant boost for the rotation - a proven veteran with a good track record. Too bad he couldn’t speak English. Everything I wanted to say to him went through his translator.

I was sleeping soundly after another win on the 26th when I got a call in the morning. It was Dewberry.

“What’s up?” I asked, still groggy.

“Bad.” He responded.

“What’s bad?”

“San Francisco released me.”

I was shocked. He was hitting poorly (.133) but he was a solid presence
and a great teacher for the new guys on the Giants.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I called my agent, he’s going to see if I can sign with another team. For now, I’m going be with my family. I’ll keep in touch.” He hung up.

Now it may just seem like a simple release, but Dewberry was a class act. San Francisco hadn’t even offered him a minor league option, which Jerrold would have undoubtedly taken. This guy loved baseball - and just wanted to play. I wanted to get him back under my wing, but I knew that first base was a position of strength for Arizona and they wouldn’t sign him.

That phone call put a damper on the day, despite our dramatic 9th inning comeback.

Slowly I recovered, and before I knew it, May had rolled in. Not only that, Arizona had the best NL record (17-10), second best overall (Anaheim being the best), a two game lead, Ken Giichi was 5-0, and Look had the MLB lead in saves at 11.

Better yet, the Marlins were worse off this year without my management. They sat in the gutter of the East. That was better justice than stealing Canon’s placard.